


Her Boys

by MaxWrite



Series: The Sleepwalker Series [2]
Category: British Actor RPF, Harry Potter RPF
Genre: M/M, POV First Person, RPF, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-11
Updated: 2006-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-24 18:38:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mother always knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Boys

Men have never been any good at subtlety.

Oh, they can lie well enough when it doesn’t really matter, about things such as how much money they actually lost at the track, or about how much they just loved that new casserole thing you made last week. But when it really counts, when the new secretary is a bit too pretty or when they’ve forgotten yet another anniversary and had to do some last minute shopping, you can tell. You can see right through them.

Sometime around the beginning of their adolescence, James and Ollie began to grow apart. I’d expected this, of course, but was nonetheless upset by it. It didn’t even happen gradually. It was, from what I could see, an overnight occurrence. Their secret world, the one I didn’t have access to, but was nonetheless fully aware of, just … vanished. Suddenly, there was no more whispering, no more sidelong glances at the table, or snickering into cupped hands. Oh, they remained close enough. There’s a bond between them I don’t think even they could break if they wanted to. But it wasn’t the same. Suddenly, they had worlds outside each other. Suddenly, they could go entire days without speaking to each other.

This made me very sad. And then …

One morning, as I padded into the kitchen, James wandered past me in his dressing gown with a cup of tea clasped in both hands, the dog trotting alongside him. And he was humming. I couldn’t quite place the tune. It sounded suspiciously like something from an old Disney animated film, but I couldn’t remember which.

“James?” I said.

He stopped and frowned and seemed to be in the process of remembering that other people existed. He finally looked over at me and smiled pleasantly.

“Morning, mum,” he said softly.

“Are you all right?” I asked, stepping toward him. I reached up and placed a hand on his forehead. He cocked an eyebrow at me.

“Erm …”

“You don’t feel warm.”

“Should I?”

I removed my hand. “You just … look a bit funny.”

He canted his head and smiled broadly. A handsome, yet pretty smile that made his eyes go a bit squinty. Just like his father. “Funny how?”

“You just … your skin looks warmer somehow. Sort of glowy. Forget it, dear, go on, forget I said anything.”

“Okay.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek, then went on his way, sort of floated into the den where he curled up in an armchair, petted the dog absently and began humming again.

I shook my head as though to clear the fog from inside it. James is an enigma. I never know which one of his personalities will be greeting me. That morning, I got the James I rather liked, but even he wasn’t quite the same.

Ollie has always been much more predictable. And that day, when he bounded into the kitchen, he seemed normal enough, like his usual good-natured self. Except …

 _What was that, a bit of a swagger? Is he standing up straighter? There was a bit of pep in that toss of his hair, wasn’t there? Humph._

“Morning, mum,” he said, peering into the fridge.

“Morning, love. You seem … chipper.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. What’s wrong with James? Don’t drink out of the carton.”

He lowered the orange juice container from his face and went to the cupboard for a glass. “James? What d’you mean?”

“He seems a bit spacey.”

“Oh?”

“Has he started sleepwalking again?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

He stopped with the glass sitting just before his lips and he froze. “Well -”

“When? Where? How long has he -”

“Mum, _mum!_ Relax. It’s taken care of. He’s fine.”

“What does that mean?”

“We took care of it. He’s okay now.”

“But -”

James entered the kitchen just then and went straight for the sugar bowl.

“You might want to add some tea to your sugar this morning,” said Oliver.

“Shut up,” chuckled James as he spooned more sugar into his cup. “Or at least come up with some new material.”

They glanced at each other. And there it was. My heart skipped a beat. Something secret passed between them then, something that wasn’t meant for me, something I wasn’t supposed to know.

Well, that’s never stopped me before.

James stood facing the counter, stirring his tea, and Ollie walked passed, on his way to the table, passing by so closely, James seemed able to feel him without them actually touching. As he passed, Ollie turned his face toward James, stared at the back of James’s head, stared at it as though he wanted to burn holes clean through it. It seemed he slowed for just a fraction of a second, just a bit, just enough … and James stopped stirring for a moment, took a deep, controlled breath.

Time did not actually stop, I know that. But for a moment, it did seem as though things were just hanging there, suspended, or simply moving very slowly. Even the air seemed thick and sluggish, the sunlight, denser somehow. And they were connected in that moment, I knew it. I could see it. It was electric. The air almost crackled.

And then it all went back to normal, sped back up again and continued. Before I knew it, James was leaving the kitchen and Ollie was seated at the table, browsing the morning paper.

I scurried away to fetch Martyn.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” he asked, sounding bored.

“It’s James, dear.”

“Yes, I managed to remember that despite his not wearing a name tag.”

“Just look at him. Does he look … _different_ to you?”

“No.”

“You didn’t even look.”

“I’ve been staring at him since you dragged me over here.”

“Yes, you’re looking, but you’re not really seeing him. Look! Listen!”

Martyn sighed and rolled his eyes skyward.

“Do you hear that?”

“What, his humming?”

I raised my eyebrows at him.

“That’s weird?”

“Of course, it’s weird!”

“What, that the boy’s happy? You should be thankful, that doesn’t happen often these days – ow!”

I dragged him off to the kitchen’s entrance where we stood and peered in at Oliver.

“What’s wrong with this one?” he asked.

“Look at the way he’s sitting.”

Ollie was sitting up in his chair, straight-backed against the backrest, holding the folded paper in one hand, eating an apple with the other, left ankle resting on right knee.

“So?” asked Martyn wearily.

“He doesn’t seem a bit … authoritative to you?”

He looked slowly around at me.

“I just mean that he seems more … _commanding_ somehow, don’t you think?”

“Susan, come back. Head. Toward. The light.”

“Oh, hush!”

Ollie slapped the paper down on the table, picked up his orange juice and stood. He came striding confidently toward us, giving us both an odd look, and stopped before us.

“Whuh?” he asked through a mouthful of apple.

“Nothing,” said Martyn. “Absolutely nothing. Your mother’s off her rocker.”

“Okay.” And at that, Ollie gave another sharp toss of his fringe and strode from the kitchen, puffing out his chest a bit as he slipped passed his father, staring directly into his eyes, as though to challenge him. But that was another matter altogether, not what was bothering me at the moment. There was something radiating from him, from Oliver. I could feel it as he passed.

“Did you feel that?” I hissed, clutching Martyn’s arm.

“No.”

“How could you not?”

“Feel what, woman?”

“Ollie, he’s … he didn’t seem to be walking a bit taller?”

“Okay, see what’s going to happen now is, I’m going to remove my bicep from your vice grip and walk over to the coffee maker, okay?”

I let him go. “Men,” I huffed and left the kitchen. I was hoping to catch the twins being all secretive again, but Ollie had retreated to his room, and James was still curled up in the armchair, staring out the window, humming quietly to himself and sipping his tea.

I know what I saw. I know what I felt. Something was happening with the twins. A new phase in their relationship? Everything old is new again, that’s what people say. Perhaps they’d rediscovered each other somehow, suddenly remembered how much they loved being close. At any rate, something was going on with them, and, true to their male nature, they were having a very difficult time hiding it.

 

  
**Day 1:**   


They were shooting that day and had to be on set at seven a.m. My eyes popped open at 5:25, five minutes before the alarm. I left it on for Martyn, then slipped out of bed and out of the room.

James emerged from his own room at the same time. I stepped back behind the door just as his head swiveled round to peer up the hall toward our bedroom. I heard his bare feet lightly brushing the hardwood, and cautiously looked out again. He’d continued on his way, just next door. To Ollie’s room.

The door was open a crack, and he pushed it open more and slipped inside. He didn’t close it behind him. I crept along the hall, prepared to act natural if one of them emerged, but neither did. I reached Ollie’s room and looked in.

James approached the bed, where Oliver was still fast asleep. He leaned over his brother, reached out and moved his fringe aside. Ollie didn’t wake up. I held my breath as James sat behind Oliver, laid down right up against him, propped up on an elbow, and looked down at him, an odd little grin on his face. It was part mischief, part endearment. I couldn’t tell if he was going to give Ollie a hug or a wedgie.

It turned out to be neither, actually. He tickled Oliver until he groaned in protest, curled up and tried to wriggle away. James persisted, though, whipping the covers off and poking at Oliver’s bare ribs with his nimble fingers.

“James!” laughed Ollie. “Jamie, knock it off - _ah!”_

James got up on top of him, straddled him and, after a bit more tickling, pinned his arms above his head. I smiled to myself, remembering when they were younger and used to play fight.

“Good morning,” said James.

“Indeed. Did you get out of bed a while ago?”

“Yeah. Went back to my room to get my pyjamas on.” James released Ollie’s hands and sat up straight, back slightly arched. His face was mostly hidden by his shiny ginger curtain, but I could see his jaw. He was grinning. He tossed his hair back, then leaned over, his face disappearing on the other side of Oliver’s. He must’ve been whispering something, because Ollie smiled and chuckled, his voice deep and gentle.

“We haven’t the time now,” he said. “Their alarm will be going off in a minute.” A moment’s silence, then, “No, Jamie, we’ll get caught.”

James sat up again, just as tall as before, his lower lip between his teeth. It slipped from between them and went all pouty, but it wasn’t a sad sort of pout. It was … different.

“James,” said Oliver in a warning tone. “Don’t you look at me like that. We haven’t the time.”

“What if they did catch us?” asked James softly, dragging his nails down Oliver’s chest. “Hm? What could they possibly do about it?”

“Don’t talk like that,” said Oliver, suddenly serious. “Your recklessness is rearing its ugly head again.”

James’s shoulders slumped. “I am not being reckless.” Leaning forward to support his weight on his hands, he swung a leg over Oliver to dismount. He got up off the bed and crossed his arms. I ducked out of view just in time as he turned to stalk toward the door.

“James, wait,” called Ollie. “Hey, come on, I just meant that -”

“I know what you meant. I was being foolish and immature again.”

“No, that’s not …” Oliver sighed. “Come here. I’m sorry.”

“What could they do?” asked James after a few moments of silence. “How could they keep us apart? Send one of us away? Watch us 24/7? Honestly, Ol, what could they possibly do?”

“Quite frankly, I don’t want to find out.”

Both their voices dropped to murmurs then.

“I just … Ollie …”

“I know, I know. Me too. I … did you leave the door open?”

I began inching back up the hall toward the master bedroom.

“James, we could’ve been seen!”

“We weren’t, though, were we? Someone would’ve said something if they’d -”

“That’s not the point! Dammit, James, we have to be careful!”

“… I know.”

Ollie sighed again. “You want them to find out, don’t you? You want dad to find out, just so you can stick it to him once more, is that it?”

“Of course not!”

“James, I … I don’t know what they’d do if they found out, but I really, _really_ don’t want to know, okay?”

There was silence again, and I suddenly realised that I’d stopped inching away, had practically stopped breathing, was barely blinking. I should’ve kept going, but I didn’t.

“There’s a part of me that wants the world to know,” said James quietly.

“I do too sometimes, but -”

I jumped as the alarm in my room went off. With my heart pounding in my chest, I fled, back up the hall and into the room, where Martyn was stirring. I closed our door and leaned back against the wall, breathing hard.

“What’s up, sweets?” he asked with a yawn.

“Nothing,” I lied. It was too soon to tell anything anyway. The twins were up to something, something their father and I wouldn’t like.

Jamie? James hates that nickname.

 

  
**Day 2:**   


“They’re _your_ friends, why do we have to go?” whined James as I adjusted his tie.

“Because your mother likes to show you off,” answered Martyn.

“That is not true,” I muttered.

“It’s too tight,” James complained. “I’ll asphyxiate and pass out in my soup.”

“Oh, hush.”

“Mum,” said Ollie. “No, mum, you’re doing it wrong.”

“I beg your pardon? I’ve been tying ties longer than you’ve been alive, young man.”

“Yeah, but it’s better this way. Here -” He came up behind James and took over, reaching around and taking the tie from me. My hands fell away and I stepped back and watched. Had Oliver been a girl, my own daughter even, I think I would’ve been jealous, seething on the inside. But he’s a boy. He’s not really my competition. Besides, in many ways, James belongs more to him than to me. And I’m okay with that.

He didn’t even need a mirror. He peered over James’s shoulder, down at his fingers as they went to work quickly and agilely. James’s complaints ceased. He didn’t say a word as Ollie took his shoulders and spun him round to examine the tie. He didn’t utter a peep as Ollie straightened it, tugged at his lapels, brushed something from James’s left shoulder. James would’ve fussed the entire time if I’d been doing all that.

I considered sidling up to Martyn and giving his ribs a jab with my elbow, just to alert him to what was going on. But a) he wasn’t going to see it anyway, and b) I suddenly realised what a bad idea it was to arouse his suspicions. He’d finally begun to lay off James about his lack of interest in girls. I couldn’t tell what evil schemes were forming in his mind, but for the moment there was peace in the house. If he began to suspect James and Ollie were getting too close, it wouldn’t be good for anybody. He and James had fallen into a quietly polite little routine, marked with much awkward chuckling and tip-toeing round each other with such intense caution and care, that even I began to fear they might shatter into a million little bits at the slightest loud noise. But they were working it out. In their own bizarre male sort of way that I hadn’t a hope of understanding, they were working it out.

Martyn and Ollie … something weird was happening there too, but not in a good way. The trust factor between them had plummeted, and I didn’t know why. They seemed … combative, in a passive-aggressive way, as though each was fighting for dominance. I’ve never known Ollie to be that way. He’s always been the peacekeeper, the pacifist, the gentle one, instinctively seeking harmony whenever possible. Now, it seemed he was using every ounce of his maleness to stand up to his father, stand up for … something. And I suspected the two anomalies – Martyn’s sudden respect for James and contempt for Ollie – were linked somehow.

 

I kept glancing at them over dinner, and they kept glancing at each other. They’d go from looking utterly bored out of their skulls, to looking quietly amused about something. James’s burgeoning adult maleness – his hardness, his tendency to occupy as much space as possible, as seems to be the birthright of every man – would flicker in and out, occasionally replaced by his natural demureness, a shyness that wrapped round him, making him seem smaller, a tad more delicate. This happened nearly every time he and his brother exchanged a glance.

“Suze?”

My face snapped round to look at our old friends, Edward and Julianna.

“Er, what?” I asked dumbly.

“You all right?” asked Julie. “You’ve been fading in and out all night.”

“Oh, I’m just, er, a bit distracted.”

She leaned forward with concern in her heavily mascaraed eyes and said, “Worried about your boys, aren’t you?”

“Er …”

“About their sudden popularity?”

“Oh! Yeah, that. I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” I said with a nervous laugh.

I could see James slumping down in his seat out of the corner of my eye, and Ollie began to fidget … well, fidget more. As Julie chattered away about how much she’d fretted when her Rosie used to compete in junior beauty pageants, I hazarded a glance at the twins. I caught it, the look they gave each other. I caught the flicker of mischief that crossed James’s face. And then …

“Excuse me,” he said, getting up. “Restroom.” He cleared his throat and took his leave. I watched Oliver’s eyes. They seemed to follow him from the room, then came back to rest on his salad fork, which he was playing with absently.

“They’ve gotten quite tall, haven’t they?” said Julie. Her eyes were also following James’s backside from the room. I glared at her.

“Yes, they have,” I said sternly. “Comes from Martyn’s side of the family.”

Martyn shot me a “don’t drag me into this” look, then took a long, deep drink from his beer glass. Luckily for him, Julie’s attention didn’t turn on him, and he was able to continue conversing quietly with Edward.

“How old are they now?” asked Julie.

“Eighteen,” said Oliver, his deep voice startling us both. He was sitting up straighter and staring across the pristine white table cloth at Julianna. He was announcing his presence, sick of being spoken about as though he wasn’t there, and I didn’t blame him.

Julie’s laugh lines deepened as she smiled a cat-like smile at him, shamelessly undressing him with her eyes right in front of me. My left eye began to twitch.

“Oliver,” she purred. He smiled politely. “How tall are you, dear?”

“6’3”.”

“My, my,” she giggled in a girlish way that didn’t befit a woman of her age. “Impressive. Whatever did your costars say when you and James turned up for work after such a spurt?”

Ollie chuckled quietly to himself, turning his face downward, his long lashes hiding his eyes. I know Julie was taking his giggles as a sign of his being flattered by her ridiculous and shameless flirtation, but I knew better. I know my son. He was embarrassed. For her.

A faint buzzing sounded just as Ollie began to answer. A little too eagerly, he announced it was his mobile phone and excused himself. I should’ve been angry that he hadn’t bothered to turn the thing off for dinner, but was silently cheering him on, urging him to run, run away, get out before she dug her acrylic claws into his flesh. I stifled a laugh, dabbing my mouth with my napkin to hide my amusement at the look of disappointment on Julie’s stretched and Botoxed face.

As Julie continued to babble at me, I glanced off in the direction of the restrooms, wondering what was taking James so long. Had Oliver gone that way too? I hadn’t been paying attention.

Our appetizers had arrived by the time James returned. I watched him suspiciously as he took his seat. His skin was glowing again and his cheeks were flushed. Then Ollie joined us, hair and clothing perfect, except …

… his zipper wasn’t quite done up.

Nobody else noticed, not even Julie, who was eyeing him like a hungry dog.

Ollie had left to use his phone, not the loo. He could’ve gone to the bathroom afterward, of course, but …

He pulled his phone out of his jacket again and began playing with it.

“Oliver!” I hissed.

“I’m just deleting some things,” he whispered back. “I’ll be done in a minute. And anyway, it’s not like I’m really interested or involved in your conversation.”

I couldn’t argue with that, but still; a mobile phone at the dinner table? Really.

“This isn’t like you,” I said.

“I’m bored to tears, mum. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed Mrs. Benton’s advances, but they’re really creepy.”

 _“If_ I’ve noticed? I’d have to be dead not to.”

“I’m just about ready to jab myself in the eye with my shrimp fork.”

“Really? Do you even know which one the shrimp fork is?”

“… No, but that’s not the point, now, is it?”

I looked at Julianna, hoping she wasn’t noticing Oliver’s sudden lack of dining etiquette. She was busy ogling James. I sighed and turned back to Ollie and his little gadget.

“What are you doing?” I asked, watching him press buttons.

“Deleting a text message.”

“Oh … who from?”

“A friend,” he said with a grin. “Why? Are yours boring you too?”

“Don’t be silly, they’re charming and engaging … is that the message you received a little while ago?”

“Yes.”

“Humph.” I craned my neck to see what it said, but he scrolled down too quickly. I got a glimpse of the number from which it had been sent, though. And I frowned.

Etiquette be damned. I _was_ bored. I reached into my purse and pulled out my own phone, opened up the address book and scrolled down. I found the contact I was looking for, the same number Ollie’s mysterious text message had come from. I frowned again.

And then, with all the pleasantness of an ice cube down my blouse, it hit me.

That morning, when I’d found James humming and glowing in the den, looking rather like a satisfied cat, and Ollie had strutted confidently into the kitchen, looking as though he’d just … as though he’d just … they must’ve just …

 _Oh, my god. James was naked under his dressing gown._

And the morning I’d seen them in bed together; they’d slept in the same bed that night. James had returned to his room briefly to put his clothes back on. And then he’d woken Oliver, woken him to ask for more … oh, my god.

Why, why, why was it only just dawning on me? All the things they’d said about what Martyn and I would do if we found out. Of _course_ they’d been referring to … oh, my god.

I looked back down at the little screen of my phone, my eyes skimming over the digits of James’s mobile number. Then I looked slowly around at Ollie and just stared at him.

He noticed my staring and turned to me with a grin and a raised eyebrow. “What?” he asked.

“Er -” I stuttered, “- your zipper, love. Your, erm, I mean, it’s not quite -”

He discretely zipped up and thanked me.

I drained my wine glass in one gulp.

 

For the rest of the evening, I couldn’t concentrate on anything anyone was saying. My head kept swimming with images of James’s squinty-eyed smile. It looked completely different to me now, knowing what it meant. All along, there’d been a secret behind his twinkling eyes. He’d kissed my cheek that morning. How long before that had he had his mouth on …

I shook that thought away before it had the chance to fully form.

Through the rest of dinner and all the way home, my brain worked furiously to connect all the dots. Finally, Martyn and I were alone.

“Well, you were weird tonight,” he said as he removed his dress pants. “They’re your friends, you know. Why is it I did most of the talking?”

“A few weeks ago, you came in here looking rather peaky,” I said, ignoring his question. “Why was that?”

“What?”

“I asked you what was wrong, and you wouldn’t tell me. I’d like for you to tell me now.”

He turned away from the mirror and stared at me. I was seated on the bed in my nightgown, watching him serenely.

“What’re you on about?” he muttered, dropping a cufflink onto the dresser.

“I want to know what made you look like that.”

“It’ll only worry you.”

“We’re not supposed to keep secrets,” I warned, which, granted, didn’t mean a whole lot coming from me, but he didn’t know that.

He sighed and dropped the other cufflink next to the first. He leaned forward on his hands, against the dresser, shoulders slumped. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“Too late, dear.”

He smirked. “Why, I oughta … all right. Fine. I saw James coming out of Oliver’s bedroom.”

I swear my heart stopped.

“Wearing nothing but his dressing gown. And Ollie’s sheets were … no, you’re right. I am crazy. It was probably nothing.”

“Of course it was. Nothing for you to worry about, I’m sure. I’m glad you told me, though. Don’t you feel better?”

“Humph. I do, actually. Weird.”

“Yes, honesty is a bizarre little phenomenon, isn’t it?”

He shuffled over to me, bent over and gave me a kiss. Then he went into our bathroom and closed the door. I swung my legs up onto the bed and drew the covers up over myself. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what he’d said. Ollie’s sheets were what? What had he seen? I decided not to press the subject. Didn’t want to start him wondering. There was something else about him and Oliver I was curious about, however.

“What’s up with you and Ollie?” I asked when he finally emerged.

“No idea.” He collapsed in bed next to me and turned off the lamp on his side. The fact he didn’t even pretend not to know what I was talking about was interesting. He sounded somewhat resigned.

“Did you have a fight?”

“No.”

“Did he do something wrong?”

A pause then, as though he was thinking about the question. “Nope,” he finally answered with a terseness that told me it would be unwise to continue that line of questioning. I rolled over and turned off my lamp and stared blindly into the darkness.

 

  
**Day 3:**   


I puttered round the house one afternoon, straightening up. I was alone, with ample opportunity to sneak into the twins’ rooms and snoop a bit. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I walked back and forth before their doors, sweeping or mopping the hallway floor outside them until I could see myself in the hardwood, but I never once set foot into either of their rooms. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it before, would’ve abandoned my cleaning and been in Ollie’s room, peeking beneath the mattress before the mop handle had even hit the floor. But today, no. Today, everything was different.

I stopped mopping and stared in at Ollie’s nicely made bed. His ratty old stuffed bunny, which was missing an eye, and James’s little yellow baby chick, which wasn’t quite so fluffy anymore, were sitting up against the pillows, staring back at me. I remembered the day I gave those to them. Easter Sunday, 1992.

A door slammed and a seven-year-old Oliver moped his way up the stairs, toward his room. I’d turned away for just a second, and suddenly, Ollie’s bed was much smaller, fitted with Power Rangers sheets, and there was a plastic racing track sitting on the floor next to his school bag.

“Ollie?” I called. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he mumbled in his quiet little-boy voice. His hands were in his pockets and his head was lowered as he skulked across the room toward his bed. He hopped up onto it and sat in its center, pouting down at his lap.

I approached and sat next to him. “Did you and James have a fight?”

“No. I’m fine,” he insisted. Slowly, he reached over for Bunny and clutched him to his skinny little chest.

“You’re not gonna tell me, eh?”

He shook his head.

“Okay. You don’t have to. Might make you feel better, though.”

He shook his head again, this time more vigorously, making his glossy, chestnut mop shake from side to side.

“All right. Are you hungry, love?”

He was shaking his head again when James trudged into the room looking guilty and sad. He came over to us and stopped before Oliver. He had something behind his back. He raised his head just a bit and looked up at me with his big, sad, brown eyes and his patented pout. My heart melted. I just wanted to hug him. But I knew instinctively that I should leave them alone. There was boy business to attend to. No mums allowed.

I sighed and gave them each a little smile. “You boys come down for lunch in ten minutes, okay?” I stood and gave them both little pats on the head before departing.

Not that I actually departed, mind you.

I stood just outside the door and peered in at them. I watched little James look up at Ollie the same way he’d looked up at me. Ollie stared back, over the top of Bunny’s head. I could see something small and fluffy and yellow in James’s hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Fine,” was Oliver’s only response.

“You forgive me?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Ollie shrugged and looked away.

“I’m really sorry, Ollie.”

“Fine,” Oliver repeated with a little more force.

“You can have Chicky.” And James produced Little Chick from behind his back, holding it out to his brother as some sort of bizarre fluffy yellow peace offering. Oliver blinked at the little golden bird, stone-faced. But when James made Little Chick fly forward to peck at Bunny’s head, Ollie couldn’t help but smile. And James did too.

“I’m still mad at you,” insisted Oliver unconvincingly. James crawled up onto the bed with him, sat so close their arms touched, and looked sidelong at him with a grin on his small, pale face.

“I mean it, you know. You can have him.”

“You’re a nutter, just keep him.”

“No, you’ll take better care of him. Here.” James thrust Little Chick into Ollie’s lap with such finality, that Ollie made no further protest. He looked down at the toy, then back up at James. James met his eyes and said with a softness that made me tear up, “I want you to have him. I’m sorry.”

A timid smile spread across Oliver’s face, and he looked back down at the bunny and baby chick. He took them both and placed them against his pillow, side by side, so close that paw and wing touched. Then he looked back at James.

“I forgive you,” he said.

I wished I could’ve listened longer, found out what had happened that got Ollie so angry. Ollie almost never got that angry. But the two of them slid off the bed and were headed for the door, so I had to scramble away, down the stairs to the kitchen and try to look busy, but not before I noticed James reach for Oliver’s hand, grab it and hold it tight. He rushed ahead and led Oliver toward the door.

They were walking toward me, getting closer and closer. Any second, James would pull the door all the way open and notice me standing there and realise I’d been eavesdropping. But that didn’t happen, of course. Seven-year-old James and seven-year-old Ollie vanished, as did the plastic racing track and Ollie’s tiny school bag and his Power Rangers sheets. The bed expanded to queen size, and the red airplane lamp on the bedside table became a green lava lamp. Bunny and Little Chick remained, though, a little older, a little less fur, a little grayer, one less eye, but still together, side by side, wing to paw.

 

  
**Day 4:**   


After my little flashback, I couldn’t bring myself to confront them. If they wanted to be together, well, I’d just have to deal with it (read: I’d just have to pretend it wasn’t happening). Remembering the two of them like that, so close, so perfectly _right_ for each other, remembering how hard it’d been for me watching that closeness fade away, and how nice it’d been to see a glimpse of it again in the way James had tickled Oliver from his slumber that morning … if it was coming back, I wasn’t about to interrupt it.

I found myself humming whatever tune it was that James had been humming the other day, still unsure of what exactly it was, as I ran the vacuum over the carpet in Oliver’s room. Bunny and Little Chick ignored me, stared off into space together, no doubt planning evil plushy plans.

I smiled to myself, remembering my boys playing together when they were little. I shut off the vacuum and began smoothing down the bed sheets, not that I needed to; Ollie does an impeccable job of making his bed, better than me, come to think of it … it’s actually a little annoying.

They say curiosity killed the cat, and I think I know why now. I couldn’t leave well enough alone. The twins were happy, and I was happy in my world of delusion and selective memory. Why couldn’t that suffice? I had to peek under Ollie’s mattress, just for old time’s sake. I expected to find the usual; porn and a tattered old journal. Which is exactly what I found. It’s good to know some things don’t change. So, why couldn’t I leave it at that?

I picked up the journal. I couldn’t seem to stop myself. I pulled open the front cover, which was deep burgundy leather, and the book fell open.

The page it opened up to contained a photograph of my youngest son, naked, except for an indigo blue button down shirt, wrapped unceremoniously round his narrow torso and falling off one shoulder. He was on Ollie’s bed, straddling a couple of pillows, giving the camera a seductive little smirk, his ginger hair falling all too sexily over one eye. He was fully erect.

I slammed the book shut quickly, but too late; the image was seared into my brain for good. I dropped to my knees and replaced the journal exactly where I’d found it, dropped the mattress corner back into place and smoothed down the sheets. I popped up like a Jack-in-the-Box and began to pace.

What was Oliver thinking, keeping a picture like that right there, where anyone could find it? He’d called _James_ reckless. He’d accused _James_ of wanting to get caught. He clearly knew a thing or two about those things himself, didn’t he?

My delusion shattered around me. Yes, my boys were becoming closer again, but only because they were shagging. I stopped pacing, stood in the center of the room, utterly bewildered. How could this happen? Had I done something wrong? Had I pushed them into each other’s arms? Oh, god …

The disturbing reality kept seeping into my brain, slowly and unpleasantly, making it hard to breathe, as though I was descending into ice water. I tried not to, but I couldn’t help it; I began to _picture_ it, picture them, together. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head.

“No, no, no,” I whimpered as I raced from the room. And I made a decision. I would have to confront them. It had to be done.

 

I waited. Martyn returned home. I told him nothing. And I waited. The boys returned home. I acted natural. And I waited. The right time would present itself.

But it never did, of course. I procrastinated on into the night, until the house was dark and still, Martyn’s snoring filling every upstairs corner.

“Damn,” I cursed under my breath. I rolled out of bed, stepped into my slippers and left the room, headed down to the kitchen for a snack.

I turned on the light over the stove, preferring its dim illumination to the full brightness of the ceiling lights. I pulled open a drawer, retrieved the stainless steel ice cream scoop from inside, and closed the drawer.

“Did you hear that?” said a voice from the basement. I stopped at the island in the kitchen and turned toward the basement door. It was closed, but I finally noticed the faint light seeping into the kitchen through the space between door and floor.

There was complete silence for several seconds, and then, “I guess it was nothing. We can’t keep doing this, you know.”

“We’ll move out soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

“Shhh, relax, baby. Just kiss me.”

I couldn’t escape it. It was happening right below me. I had to do something before I heard too much, had to either put a stop to it or run away. I could already hear the old recliner squeaking under their weight. Well, I wasn’t about to run away. If I did that, I knew I’d never stop.

I walked on over and knocked on the door. The squeaking stopped.

“Boys?” I called. “I’m sorry to … interrupt -” I winced, “- but we really need to talk. Now.”

I stopped breathing and listened. After a moment, I could hear movement. The recliner squeaked as they stood. The stairs creaked as they ascended. Closer and closer they came, until they were right there on the other side of the door. The doorknob twitched and began to slowly turn. The door was pushed open.

James stood a couple of steps below me, peering up at me with those big, brown eyes. But not sad this time. This time they were frightened. Ollie was just behind him, one step lower, looking guilty and betrayed.

I noticed James swallow hard as he took the final few steps up into the kitchen. He hugged his torso as he crossed to the island and leaned back against it, staring down at his feet. Oliver followed, hands in the pockets of his plaid pyjama pants. He went and stood next to James and stared straight at me.

“How long has this been going on?” I asked.

“How long have you known?” asked Oliver.

“I asked you first.”

“A few weeks.”

I nodded. “I only began to suspect a few days ago.”

“Have you told dad?”

“No. And I’m not going to.”

“Why?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Would you prefer I did?”

“Of course not.”

I looked away from him, stared at the open basement door. _They were about to have sex in my basement,_ I thought. _With each other! On my mother’s old chair!_

When I looked back, I just shook my head in confusion. “Why?” I implored him. I gestured at the two of them and asked, “What … what _is_ this?”

They glanced at each other, then back at me. Oliver shrugged.

“We’re in love,” he replied simply.

It happened so quickly, I didn’t even have time to think. I was standing right before him in two quick strides, and my hand flew up and across, my palm connecting sharply with his cheek. His face didn’t move very far, didn’t snap round like it would’ve in a movie. He winced upon impact, but after that, barely moved, just stood there, eyes downcast.

“Don’t give me that!” I snapped. “You’re in _love?_ Are you mad? It’s either that, or you’re joking!”

“Lower your voice,” he said calmly. “You’re gonna wake dad.”

“Do not give me orders!”

“Mum -”

“I trusted you! You were always so good, and now -”

“Mum!”

“My god, does your father suspect already?” My eyes widened and I gasped. “Is that why … is that why he’s been acting funny around you lately?”

 _“Mum!”_

I finally realised James was calling to me, and I stopped.

“He’s not lying,” he said. “And he’s not crazy – er, well,” he looked at Oliver again, “maybe we’re both crazy, I dunno.”

“We’re not,” said Ollie with fierce certainty.

“He’s right, mum,” said James, looking at me. “We’re in love with each other. Or something like that. It certainly feels like we’re in love. I think.”

Movement in my lower periphery caught my attention, and I looked down. James had grasped Ollie’s hand, was holding on tight.

My eyes welled up. “And what about your father?” I asked, fighting to keep my composure. “How does he fit into all this?”

“Dad blames him,” said James. “I’m not interested in women, and dad blames him for it.”

“B-but that doesn’t make any sense. Why is he suddenly treating you like a prince?”

James shrugged and shuffled his feet. “He feels sorry for me, I think. Sees me as a bit of a victim.”

“He expected more from me,” added Oliver. “That’s why he blames me. That’s why he’s not angry at James; because he expected more from _me.”_

I shook my head. “That doesn’t make sense,” I whispered.

“That’s dad for you,” said James with a nervous grin.

I looked from his face, to Ollie’s, to their clasped hands, watched James’s thumb move from side to side along the back of Ollie’s hand, and my vision began to blur as my tears increased in volume.

“We’re sorry this hurts you,” I heard James say. I couldn’t see him anymore, as I was now crying into my sleeve. “We’re not doing this to hurt anyone.”

“Or to rebel,” said Oliver. I looked up as he touched my shoulder and saw that he was holding a box of tissues out to me. I took them from him, and he went back to James, took James in his arms and held him.

I dabbed my tears away and was able to see them clearly again. It was rather sweet, the two of them together like that. Reminded me of when they were little and used to share a bed. Ollie kissed James’s cheek. My hand flew up to my mouth and I gasped just a little. I was touched and a little disgusted, both at once, and I couldn’t tell which feeling had produced the gasp.

“You’re really in love?” I asked in a quivering voice. They both nodded. “So, it’s not just some … sick … sex thing? God, I can’t even believe I’m asking you this.”

They chuckled nervously.

“Well, no one ever said it wasn’t sick,” said James. “But no, it’s not just that.”

I sniffled, wiped my nose. “Kiss.”

They gaped at me.

“Er -” Ollie began.

“Now. Kiss each other. Kiss like I’m not here.”

“Why?”

“I need to know something. I need to know if I can live with this.”

“We can leave, mum,” said James. “We don’t have to stay here any -”

“Of course you can leave, and will be soon, I’m sure, but that isn’t the point. Proximity isn’t the point. Having this exist in my world at all; _that_ is the issue here. I was snooping, and I found that naked picture of you that Oliver has in his journal. I’m sorry,” I added quickly before either could interject. “What’s done is done, and I’m sorry. But now that picture will be with me forever. No mother should see her son that way. So, I have to know, because if I can’t accept this … just kiss. Please.”

They were horribly embarrassed, I could tell. But they turned to each other anyway, licked their lips at the same time. They leaned in, bumped noses and finally tilted their heads. Their mouths drew nearer and nearer and nearer …

Suddenly the house was deafeningly quiet, like we were in a vacuum. It was more than just a lack of sound. It wasn’t as though all sound had stopped, it was more like all sound had been sucked from the room, leaving something more than quiet. Leaving a heavy auditory nothingness.

They were as nervous as I was, inching toward each other so slowly, I almost wanted to push their faces together just to get it over with. Their lips should’ve come together a million times before they actually did, but they sort of danced round each other, coming in for the landing, then chickening out and moving away in tiny little increments, so miniscule, my eyes stung just trying to see them.

The very first bit of contact made my stomach do a little flip. I couldn’t tell if that was a good sign or not. It was just a tentative little peck, that lead to another and another, until the pecks turned to kisses, and the kisses to nibbles, and the nibbles to licks. Before I knew it, my boys were kissing each other, fully, completely, mouths open, tongues intermittently visible, probing each other, lips sucking each other. James’s hands were on either side of Oliver’s face. Oliver’s hands were gripping James’s waist, rubbing up and down and from sides to back. The intensity increased, and then they really did seem to forget I was there and began to breathe harder. James threw his arms round Ollie’s neck, and a single tear rolled down my cheek.

A moan escaped James’s throat, and that’s when I knew I had to end it.

“Okay, all right, that’s enough,” I said, waving a hand at them. They pulled their mouths off of each other reluctantly and, still clinging to each other, turned to look at me, waited silently for my verdict.

My lower lip began to tremble and fresh tears spilled onto my face. I inhaled shakily and whispered, “You’re beautiful together,” and finally dissolved into body-shaking sobs. They enveloped me in those long, strong arms of theirs, held me and spoke words of comfort.

“So,” I said after calming down a little, “y-you make love, then? It’s not just … not just …”

“Fucking?” Oliver offered with a grin. It was the first time I’d heard him curse.

“Right,” I said. “That, yeah.”

“It’s not just that, no. We promise you.”

“Does that make it easier to accept?” asked James.

“Yes, somehow it does,” I nodded. “And you really are beautiful together.” I shook my head and stepped away from them, still quivering a bit from my crying. “You should go back upstairs now. What did you think you were doing down there on your grandmother’s old recliner anyway?”

“Er …” Ollie began.

“Paying homage to her,” said James, “in … our own … sort of way.”

“Oh, dear,” I muttered. “Well, you’re not doing that again. Go on, back upstairs, I’ll shut the basement light off.”

“So,” said James, “we can go back to Ollie’s room together? It’s okay?”

I nodded. “Yes, yes, go on before the thought of you on my mother’s chair changes my mind.”

“And you’re not going to tell dad?” asked Ollie.

“Of course not, he’d disown you. Just please be quiet about it, all right? Oh, my god, I can’t believe I just said that to you.”

“Thank you, mummy,” said James, and he’d descended on me and was kissing my cheek before I could shoo him away. Oliver followed suit, his kind eyes lingering on mine for just a moment before he turned and allowed James to lead him from the kitchen by the hand.

“What now?” I asked myself. Then I remembered the ice cream in the freezer, which was what I’d gone down there for in the first place. As I popped the first spoonful into my mouth, I laughed quietly to myself and shook my head.

 _Paying homage to grandma,_ I thought. _Of course they wanted to get caught._

 

  
**Day 5:**   


The twins and Martyn were all off to work. I stood in the center of my eldest son’s bedroom, looking around.

 _Their love nest,_ I thought. _Might have to look into sound proofing it._

My eyes landed on the bed, on _their_ bed. Knowing what had been taking place there, what was happening on it every night, could I ever sit on it again? Could I even touch it now?

I stepped up to it, turned my back to it, and sat. I placed my hands, palms down, flat against the sheet and swept my hands back and forth across it.

 _They’ve made love here._ I inhaled deeply. _All righty._

I stood and was about to walk away, but something stopped me. I turned to the bed and squatted down, lifted the corner where Oliver kept his secret things. They hadn’t been moved. They were still there. I smiled, relieved. I hadn’t even realised how much I’d wanted them to still be there until I saw them. Maybe he’d just forgotten to move them, but I didn’t think so. He’d left them there on purpose, knowing that I knew where they were. He trusted me.

I sighed happily as I picked up his journal and had another laugh at his subconscious desire to be found out. I wasn’t about to betray his trust further by actually reading anything in the journal. No, I might’ve the previous day, if I hadn’t been startled by the picture, but not today. Today, everything was different. For real, this time.

I opened the journal, and it opened up right at the picture of James. He smirked sexily at me. At his brother. And I forced myself to look. At his body. At the deliberately come-hither look on his young face, in his eyes. I’m not sure why. One final test, I suppose. One final bit of proof that I could accept what they were doing. Perhaps, also, to try and drive home for myself the fact that it didn't have to feel dirty or wrong. Not if it was about love. I just had to keep telling myself that.

“You are beautiful,” I said aloud. I kissed my fingertips and pressed them to the picture. Then I closed the journal, slipped it back beneath the mattress, and left the room.

END


End file.
